


hey i just met you and this is crazy

by nihilistending



Series: Stridercest Week 2018 [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Bro crosses boundaries and is generally irresponsible, Implied/Referenced Underage, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Unrelated Striders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-03-05 23:30:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13398567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nihilistending/pseuds/nihilistending
Summary: Derek is the wholesome boy next door that is neither wholesome nor a boy but is... certainly next door.





	hey i just met you and this is crazy

“Oh.”

Instead of Ms. English- who’d lived next door for the last fourteen years- the door opens to reveal a thirty-something man in his boxers, glaring down at you with his hair a mess and his underwear halfway down one hip. 

“Can I help you.” He asks, deadpan, body blocking any view back into the apartment.

“Um.” Your lips press thin and you tuck the worn book in your hand behind your back. “Hi. I, uh. Live next door. Did you just move in…?”

“Yeah?” the man’s arm lifts and, with ease, hooks on the top of the door. Now that you’re paying attention, actually, the top of his head almost reaches the door frame. You feel your eyes widen, swallowing around the lump that forms in your throat as you drop your eyes from his- too intimidating, sharp, cold- and straight--

\--to the thick trail of hair leading from the man’s belly-button to where his boxers dip too low.

“Uhm…”

You startle when thick, calloused fingers snap in front of your face, book dropping to the floor with a loud PWAP.  _ “Hello,”  _ he says sharply. “The fuck does it matter to you, twerp?”

“Um!” Your voice cracks embarrassingly and you lock your eyes back up on the other man’s- stunningly gold-brown, warmly colored but still somehow  _ ice cold. _ “D-does- Did Ms. English move out?”

“Well, she ain’t livin’ here.”

“Ah,” you squeak, clear your throat and try to have a normal voice when you proceed weakly: “My bad.”

You turn heel.

* * *

“Man, come on. I haven’t even got the controls down for this. Like, how do you even use the glider?”

You smirk to yourself and pointedly keep your eyes forward on the Rainbow Road. “I don’t know, Dave. I wish I could tell you, but-”

Dave whines. “Dirk, man, come on-”

**THUMP THUMP THUMP.**

“-don’t give me that, I know you know. You’re just keeping me in the dark so you can keep first place.”

“I really-”

**THUMP THUMP THUMP.**

“-... is that the dryer?” You look aside to Dave, sitting in his heart-patterned boxers now. He doesn’t even register you speaking, doesn’t turn to look at you. His bright red eyes are fixed forward on the TV still, hair all fucked up from sleep. His mouth probably still tastes like syrup from breakfast-

“-the fuck up.”

You rouse to someone shaking you awake, blinking blearily at the wall. Dave isn’t supposed to be home yet, is he? He’s not due back-

The hand on your shoulder tugs you back sharp and quick, laying you out flat on your back. You feel like you should be winded by how hard your heart jumps in your chest, your eyes hurting from how sharply you snap your eyes onto-

Your neighbor. Your new neighbor.

“What the  _ fuck!” _

“Oh, calm down. You weren’t answering your door.”

“You- you b-b _ roke in!” _ You aren’t even bothered by how your voice cracks this time, scrambling up onto your elbows-

Well, you try. But your neighbor’s hand is pinning you flush to your bed and doesn’t budge a bit from your resistance. A second after you stop struggling- (scared still)- the man’s hand eases off your shoulder and he sits heavily on the edge of your mattress. In his other hand he brandishes the thick paperback you dropped outside his door the other day. “What,” he says, “you gonna call the police?”

Somehow that sounds halfway like a threat, halfway like a bored question. Like he’s genuinely curious whether or not you’re going to call the police and only passingly considering  _ killing you in your sleep if you do. _

“N-no…”

“Cool. I’m Derek. So, nuclear physics?”

“Ms. English- uh- l-lent me that for some, um… light reading…”

“Light reading, huh?” Derek smirks, an eyebrow cocked high and his weight leaned onto one arm- braced on your bed. Your throat closes up and you wiggle, feeling like you’re only just regaining control of your body. “You’re a fucking nerd.”

“I, uh-”

“Wanna help me build a robot?”

Your eyes widen, too big for the amount of light streaming through your curtains- it’s too early for you to be awake, honestly. “U-uh… me?”

“You see anyone else here?”

You clear your throat, dropping your eyes to your blanket-covered feet. “Sure.”

Derek’s apartment is sweltering. It’s probably not safe to weld in here, but he doesn’t seem concerned by it; all he’s done is crack the windows and angle the fans so that they blow easily on the two of you without interrupting the process. You kept all of your clothes on- paranoid that you might throw sparks at yourself- but Derek is stripped down to his boxer-briefs to counter the heat without a care in the world about the sparks that flick down onto his bare thighs and up onto his bare chest. He doesn’t even twitch.

Stepping back, you lift your mask and buff out a smudge with your gloved thumb, wiping your forehead with the back of your wrist. You take a few more steps backward, clearing your throat under the sound of metal grating against metal. Derek’s back is slick with sweat, wet in the grooves between muscles. 

“You done?” 

Fuck, you barely noticed that the room fell silent. Derek is turning the plate he just finished grinding over and over in his hand, mask up. 

“Uh,” you clear your throat again and unplug your grinder, setting it on Derek’s welding table. “Yeah. I’m done. Are you done?”

“Yeah.” Derek tosses his grinder onto the table with a loud clatter, startling you to jump. He picks up a drill, pulling his mask off of his head entirely and tossing it over his grinder. “Let’s get these ready t’put on.”

* * *

 

“... Does it have a dick?”

“It’s a sex bot.”

“... Of course it is.”

“Duh. It has a dick.”

“Is its asshole self-lubricating?”

“And self-cleaning.”

“Nice.”

* * *

 

The next time Derek breaks into your apartment it’s 3AM, he’s sitting on the edge of your bed with his thumb pressed into the hollow of your throat and a baggie pinched between his index finger and his thumb. “Wake up, I need you for science.”

“Science?” you mumble, rubbing your eyes and batting at Derek’s wrist until he pulls his arm back and lets you sit up. “It’s the middle of the night…”

“Sure is. Get up.”

You push the blankets down with your feet, nearly getting tangled up in them before Derek tears them off. You swing your legs over the edge of the bed and wobble up to your feet. Derek doesn’t give you a second before he pulls you by the arm and pushes you across the room to your door.

“Whoa, hold up- let me get dressed, at least-”

“Don’t need to.” He herds you into the hall before pushing you into the tiny bathroom, flicking the light on. You whine, covering your eyes from the blaringly bright lights with one hand.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Derek-”

“Go on,” he nudges you toward the toilet and leans against the open doorway, leaving you blinking numbly at him.

“W-what?”

“Dude, just piss.”

“What the fuck, man, no?”

“We’ve got a few hours of testing ahead of us, I don’t need you breaking t’go  _ potty _ in the middle. So take care’a yourself now.”

“Dude, no, not with you just  _ standing there. _ ”

Derek rolls his eyes. “Alright, fine,” he says, mockingly placating, and steps back with both hands up- baggie still cradled in his palm. “Just don’t take  _ ten years _ , Princess. I’ll be out front.”

You shut the door behind him, consider locking it if you didn’t think he’d just break the lock. Taking a deep breath, you shake your head and do as he said. Even when he’s not hovering over you, you feel a little bit like you’re being held at gunpoint.

A few minutes later- after you wash your hands, brush your teeth, fuck with your hair just to spite Derek- you wander out into the living room to find Derek sitting on your couch staring into the hallway. He was waiting for you, clearly impatient, and you’re proud for the spark of annoyance you see flicker over his features when he realizes you were intentionally stalling.

You just barely manage to keep from smirking.

“So what’re we doin’?” you ask, arms hanging at your sides for all you wish you had pockets to shove them in. But no. Derek specifically requested you  _ didn’t  _ waste time getting dressed.

“C’mon.” Derek beckons you with a flick of his fingers, standing up and ushering you- (grabbing at you, pulling you, as soon as you’re within reach)- to the door. He pushes you along into his apartment, shutting the door behind you both and locking it. You frown. He didn’t even lock the door to  _ your apartment _ before he forced you out of it.

Probably a good thing, really. It’s not like you have your keys with you. 

“Alright, so is this more of a  _ explain by showing _ thing, or-”

“Just shut up, kid, and get on your knees.”

Your heart very nearly stops.  _ “Excuse-” _

And then he shoves you forward onto his futon. It’s fully pulled out in his living room. He’s  _ definitely _ planned this, right down to having a pillow in place for your hips to crash into. Your legs scrape against the frame slightly and you look back at him as his hands settle on your waist.

“... You cool with this?” he asks when you meet his eyes- probably because you go rigid immediately.

“Uh…” you clear your throat. Are you okay with this? You’re not really sure. And you only have a few seconds, probably, to come up with your answer before Derek gets annoyed. “I…” You trail off and, to your surprise, are met with silence. Derek doesn’t immediately cut in to interrupt. Instead he waits.

A few full seconds tick by- maybe five.

“Want me to explain first?” Derek sounds subdued, almost, like he just slowed down enough to realize that this all might be a little too fast for you. You nod, relaxing marginally under his grip. You barely notice until Derek’s hands loosen up too.

“I’ve been experimenting with making some… interesting toys. Sex toys. I want to try them out on you under various conditions to see how… effective they are.” Derek seems reluctant to continue for a few seconds, but when he’s met with nothing- (oh yeah, you definitely expect him to elaborate  _ a little more)-  _ he continues: “First we’re just going to try them out under pretty normal conditions. Just play around with’em, I’ll quiz you on how it feels.”

A few beats more of silence. Derek really isn’t good with this. Even if he’s trying to be… whatever he’s trying to be, he still doesn’t want to tell you all of it. You don’t know if it’s intentional or he’s just naturally cagey- (or coy or whatever)- about what he wants. “And then…?” you prompt.

“And then I want to drug you.”

The sentence nearly gives you whiplash. You physically recoil with the force of how much that came out of absolutely fucking nowhere. “You what?”

Derek lifts up the little bag that he’d brought into your room, roughly a handful of tiny colorful pills in the bottom of it. “I wanna drug you.”

You eye the bag in his hand, squirming under his other and clearing your throat. “With what?”

“You won’t have heard of it,” he withdraws his hand and you relax, watching him open up the baggie and take out something that looks like a tiny, star-shaped piece of chalk. You’d say it looks like a pill- it probably is- but you haven’t seen any pills as intentionally shaped or quite as colorful. “It’ll be a little like MDMA-” he pauses, observes the way you stare at him, then clarifies: “Ecstacy. It’ll make you feel… really good. And more importantly, it’ll make everything around you feel really good. It’ll feel like  _ more, _ like everything is just… more clear.”

You mull it over, give him some time to continue if he wants to, before you slowly nod. “Okay,” you agree, “but- uh…” you squirm away when he rests his hand back on your hip, twisting ‘til you can turn over. “Weird request: can we, um… not jump into this immediately…?”

Derek doesn’t look happy with that. “I need to test these. What d’you want?”

You deflate without meaning to, settling onto your back. “I, um… Could we make out a little bit, first?”

Glancing up timidly, you catch Derek’s head tilting as he observes you with evident surprise. “Yeah,” he says, sealing up the baggie and tossing it to the side of the futon. “We can make out first. Sure. The point’s for you to be comfortable.” The futon dips as Derek crawls over you and you shakily lean back as he looms, pressing close enough to brush his nose against yours. The impulse overtakes you to lean away from him, cower back, even if you’re not afraid of him. If you can be honest with yourself- (which is a stretch, some days)- you  _ want _ this. You’re excited. But Derek’s so… intimidating that you’re having trouble meeting him halfway.

Biting your lip to keep from breathing on his mouth, you tentatively lift your hands to cup his ribs. You aren’t sure if you’re allowed to touch, but he doesn’t stop you. Even when you trace your fingers down to the hem of his shirt. “And I wanna… I wanna touch you, too.”

“You already are,” Derek points out, voice flat- you aren’t sure if he’s trying to tease you or just pointing out the simple fact, but you  _ are  _ sure that he does that a lot with his voice. “Don’t say it, kid, do it.”

You nod- a short little bob of your head restricted by Derek’s forehead pressed against yours. Derek presses forward without another word. His lips touch yours, sweet and chaste in the first seconds and nothing like what you expected out of a kiss. Logically you know it’s just skin touching skin, your lips against his lips, but it feels like  _ so much more _ . Your heart pounds distinctly against your chest, floats up into your throat, and  _ God- _

His lips start moving against yours, slow at first, cradling the shape of your lower lip with his two. His lips are soft and rough somehow at the same time, dry before his tongue ghosts against lip-  _ oh.  _ You should probably be doing something, too. 

You mimic him, touch your tongue to his lip and try to keep it brief like he kept his. Now that you think about it- a second, a few seconds too late- he was probably just wetting his lips to slide a little more slickly against yours, but you’ve already flicked the tip of your tongue against a tiny split in his upper lip- where the skin seems somehow softer and tastes coppery.

“You’re really slow to pick up,” Derek’s weight shifts and you’re suddenly boxed in by his thick arms on either side of your head. His face is cast in shadow- in the small space between your nose and his- but his eyes are still a bright near-gold. Your chest constricts when his words hit home.

“Sor-”

“You never done this before?”

You shake your head, sliding your hands along his waist to sit at his back.

Derek’s eyes narrow and you feel distinctly like something small, fluttery and flighty caught in a snake’s wrapping, squeezing grasp. The silence is split what feels like  _ minutes _ later by Derek humming a low note. The sounds was smooth, slow and not innately startling. You jump anyway. 

For a while longer Derek considers you before kissing you again. His lips move more slowly, like he’s trying to lead you- but no, he’s not really the  _ take you by the hand _ type. He’s not a guide. He’s a  _ you better keep up or I’ll leave you in my dust _ kind of guy. Still he moves a little more slowly than he did at first and you’re thankful for the opportunity to just take his lead and figure out how to do this better.

You figure out a rhythm, something smooth and right where the two of you meet in the middle and mesh together like well-shaped cogs. Derek’s worn your grooves out so they match his, molded you to work perfectly in tandem with him. You’re feeling more confident, now, like you know what you’re doing and- more importantly- know what Derek wants you to do.

-And then that all comes crashing down, the second Derek’s thick fingers slip into your hair. You startle, bite down on his lip and plant an incisor right into that divot in his lip. Derek jumps, too, under your teeth and tongue, and his fist squeezes in his hand.

“Sorrysorrysorry-”

“Shut  _ up, _ Jesus-” Derek tugs your hair, yanks once before drawing back to look down at you properly. His tongue presses where your teeth cut and as his tongue slides over his mouth before tucking back into it- you see stark red blood dribble along the swell of his lower lip. Usually cold and calculating, you see a spark of heat through his sharp eyes that is somehow ten times more terrifying.

He told you to shut up, so you shrink down and curl your sweaty hands against his back.  _ Sorry, _ is on the tip of your tongue all over again. 

“Most people’ll only like a hint’a teeth- a little scrape. I don’t mind if you bite,” his voice drops a little lower and his weight shifts- (you’re reminded of the predatory way a big jungle cat will rock its weight from shoulder to shoulder, muscles bunching and displaying in the long line of its back- you can feel it, the way Derek’s muscles ripple under the tight skin of his back)- his voice is almost a whisper: “I like to bleed.”

“Oh,” you choke out- squeak, really.

“Just don’t try t’tear my mouth off, yeah? I prefer  _ roguishly scarred _ to  _ horribly disfigured.  _ And keep in mind most people don’t like too much.”

“O-oh-” you clear your throat. “Okay.”

Shivering, you rub your hands up his back and lean up to touch your tongue to the place your tooth dug in.  _ This _ is probably not the safest thing- one of the oral alternatives to blood-born risks- but… fuck it, honestly, whatever. You try what he said, dragging your lower teeth over his upper lip before kissing him more softly. Blood smears over your lips and every kiss tastes like metal in a thrilling way.

Boldly you arch your body against his, breath shaking out in an almost weak, shuddering wheeze. Yeah, this is definitely starting to get to you.

Derek laughs.

You startle again- though not as destructively, this time- and pull back to look at him with wide eyes as he openly chuckles. Firstly- this is the first time you’ve heard Derek even start to laugh (you like it, deep and somehow dangerous sounding)- and secondly  _ what is he laughing at what did you do. _

He smirks, wider than typical, and looks down at you in an almost affectionate way- with a teasing lilt to his voice: “You’re cute,” he comments. “That was a really pathetic little moan.”

You flush and squirm, looking away and trying your best to frown as unhappily as possible. “Shut up. I’m not used to… I dunno.”

“I know,” he says, borderline comforting, and shifts his body off of yours to sit at your side. His hand slips from your hair, cups your cheek, thumb ghosting across your skin before pressing a little deeper- and he  _ pinches your cheek. _ You frown harder, glare up at him.

Shaking his head, Derek grabs you by the shoulder and pulls you upright effortlessly, sitting you up with one hand while the other reaches back to tug the futon up into a locking position. “Help me make some of these,” he orders, standing and ruffling your hair as he reaches around the side of the futon to haul up a large pillow-case, dump it into your lap. 

_ Wait. What? _

“What?” you echo looking down at the bag in your lap as Derek walks across the small apartment into the kitchen, opening the fridge and grabbing out a couple bottles of water. He tosses one to you- (which you swat out of the air rather than catch)- before sitting heavily beside you. 

“I need some more of’em and I’m gonna want you t’help me make these, anyway.”  From the bag he pulls a few large scraps- and even rolls- of cloth and a full sewing kit. He digs into the bottom of the bag for stuffing while you reel.

“And here-” he offers the baggie he brought into your room, opening it before you and fishing out a tiny, heart-shaped pill. He snaps it in half between his fingers, offering you one. “Chew this.”

* * *

 

Derek shows you how to sew one of his puppet-toys, guiding your hand through some of the stitches, and the two of you sit shoulder-to-shoulder as you craft. You’re waiting to feel something, every second gauging yourself to try and figure out if it’s working yet. Derek is completely unphased, meanwhile, at your side. You wonder if  _ he’s _ feeling anything, yet. He had a whole one, afterall, at the same time that you took yours.

“When am I supposed to feel something?” you ask, sighing heavily and leaving your half-formed puppet on your thighs while you rest your head against his shoulder. “And I thought we were gonna, like… do some stuff before we did stuff on this?”

“Figure I’ll get you used to how it feels, first. We’ll see how you react to what I gave you before we try doing anything while you’re on it.” Derek pinches some cloth together, sewing in quick practiced motions. You watch, astounded for a few seconds by how perfect he manages to be without even slowing down. 

“You didn’t answer my question,” you point out, once you refocus on what Derek was saying. 

“Give it a few more minutes. You’re already startin’ t’come up.” He sets his finished puppet- smuppet- aside, with his needle pinned somewhat carelessly into the butt, and lifts his arm to wrap around your shoulder. “Feelin’ okay so far?”

“Doesn’t feel that different,” you mumble, scooting closer to his side and pressing up against his chest. He’s so warm. Hot, really, like what you would imagine out of that description of Jacob in the Twilight series.

Your nose wrinkles. Ugh. That’s just about the most teenager-y comparison you could’ve made.

“What?” Derek asks, snickering and smiling lazily down at you. “What’s that face for?”

“You don’t wanna know,” you decide, throwing your legs over Derek’s lap and scooting until you’re just shy of sitting on his thigh.

* * *

 

Eventually you see what Derek was talking about. Being close to him is the most important thing and you’ve never felt so good about wanting to be in constant contact with someone. Usually it sucks- the urgency to touch and be touched- but today it feels so possible and so sweet. 

The two of you don’t really do anything. You sit on his lap and kiss him- over and over, taking breaks as you both see fit. It’s easy, low pressure.

You take a shower with him- the best fucking shower you’ve ever had- where the two of you take turns under the hot spray until Derek gets greedy and decides you can both fit under the water.

Slick skin against slick skin feels so nice. The possibility of it being sexual doesn’t even really occur to you- you just rub your cheek against his chest and hug him as the water warms your back. You fascinate yourself for a while- squeezing his arms and feeling the muscle just beneath his skin. Derek doesn’t seem so enraptured by you- more amused than anything- but he entertains you and combs his fingers through your hair. 

The two of you stand in the shower until the water starts getting cold, then walk out naked into the apartment. Derek throws a few towels into the dryer- (which is a very good idea, a phenomenally good idea)- and once they’ve been tumbled for a few minutes he takes them out and wraps you up in one. This is the best day of your life.

* * *

 

You and Derek end up crashing on his futon wrapped in a mixture of towels and blankets- all fresh from the dryer, when you’d wrapped them around yourselves; now only warmed by the heat of your bodies. Sleep comes fitfully as it always does- you suspect for both of you, though you aren’t too familiar with Derek’s specific sleeping habits- and you wake up several times over the course of the night to resettle yourself in Derek’s arms.

At one point you wiggle in his grip and twist to face him, arms curled around him where you can squeeze them. The blankets are getting a little hot now, but you don’t mind too much. You’re feeling… weird. Empty, almost, and faintly anxious. You press your nose to Derek’s cheek and weigh your options between waking him up and fighting through this aching feeling alone until you can fall back asleep.

“Hey…” you whisper, against Derek’s jaw, uneasily quiet. 

He hums back at you, hands shifting up your bare back. “What?” he mumbles a few seconds afterward. 

You struggle to find any reason you could’ve woken him up.  _ I’m lonely, _ sounds pathetic and stupid for whatever time no doubt in the middle of the night it is.  _ Anything _ actually sounds really stupid. “Um…” you murmur back to stall, which rouses Derek a little more, has his eyes peeking open and his body shifting under yours.

“What’s wrong?” he asks more clearly, bracing your waist with one hand and that alone feels a lot better.

To answer you squirm up high enough to kiss him pawing your fingers at his stubbled jaw to get him to lower his chin just a little more. You press your body up against him, annoyed at the towels and blankets still tangled around you both  _ just _ enough to annoyingly separate you. Derek’s hand slides down to your hip, fingers slipping just beneath one towel wrapped over your hip and down around one leg. 

He huffs, half laugh half… something else- when you push yourself more flushly up against him and insistently shoulder him onto his back. “What’s got you in a mood?” he asks, helping you strip the towel from your leg. 

“I don’t know… bad dream I don’t remember, maybe… Let’s not talk about it?” 

“Mm…” Derek holds your thighs, tugs and pushes you to slide you against his hip. Burying your face into his neck, you wiggle and try to push your thigh up against his dick as he moves you- clinging to his biceps with pointed fingertips. “I love not talking about things,” he agrees, voice a little tighter when he shifts his weight- (rocking you on top of him)- and more purposefully grinds himself up against your thigh.

The two of you only pant and grind against each other- Derek’s hands rubbing along your back and grabbing at your ass. As you get closer and closer Derek starts handling you more roughly, growling low against the curve of your neck. He rolls the two of you, pinning you under his body with one hand digging hard enough to bruise into your hip, the other knotted in your hair. 

The last minute seems like a blur. You refocus with Derek’s body rolling slowly against yours and your fingertips tingling where they’re still dug into the muscles in his back. You huff short breaths against his shoulder, slowing them slowly. Your whole body feels loose, shaky and weak. 

“Fuck,” you sigh, loosening your hold on him and sagging back into the futon. “My God…”

Derek huffs against your forehead, shaking his head and drawing back to sit back on his heels. He grabs a towel from the floor and wipes away the come streaked over your skin. “Worth waking up for. Even if we just rubbed off on each other like teenagers.”

You blink up at him a few times. Clear your throat. “Yeah…”

Derek freezes. Stares at you. Frowns. “How old are you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Man it started off really strong but I just don't know where this was going.


End file.
